


Zip Ties Can't Hold Kirsten Clark

by icyvanity



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Cameron is an emotional puppy, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, Kirsten is a badass, Or else Kirsten would be dead, Self-Defense, Thank God for Camille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icyvanity/pseuds/icyvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I won't get kidnapped."<br/>Kirsten totally got herself kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zip Ties Can't Hold Kirsten Clark

Kirsten awoke with a start. Her head was pounding to the point where could hear nothing besides it. Blinking groggily, she looked around for any signs of where she was; all she could make out were shelves and a patch of light on the floor. Two men were standing across from her, but paid her no mind, their movements blurry.

She suddenly realized her hands and feet were bound with zip ties. She noticed her reflection in the dull mirror behind the men; blood caked in her hair and down the right side of her face. That explained the crusty feeling every time she blinked.

Kirsten came to the logical conclusion that she had been kidnapped.

_Kidnapped_.

Cameron was going to kill her.

* * *

 

Two hours prior to her kidnapping, Kirsten and Cameron had gotten to their biggest fight yet. Kirsten hadn’t been paying much attention to Cameron’s ranting, choosing instead to research abandoned warehouses within a 3-mile radius from where the victim—24 year old Sarah Jones—was found, when Cameron’s hand slammed down on the table.

“Dammit, Kirsten! Are you even listening to me?” He demanded as her eyes met his.

“Cameron,” Kirsten implored, ignoring his glares at her fingers still tapping at the keyboard, “more people could die if we don’t find the hideout.”

“Yeah, and one of them might be you!” he yelled.

Rolling her eyes, Kirsten said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Cameron laughed without humor, “You think I don’t know they were following you and Fisher this morning?”

Kirsten cursed Fisher soundlessly, and finally closed her laptop, “Fisher needed me there to identify the warehouse—you know that.”

He said, “But they were following you.”

Throwing her hands in the air, Kirsten relented, “Fine. It seemed that _someone_ was following us. It could have been Turner’s people, or maybe it was nothing and I was paranoid because of residual emotion from the stitch.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed, “You never say ‘maybe’.”

Kirsten sighed, “You weren’t there, Cam. Just let it go.”

“Then take me with you next time.”

There it was. Deep down, that was the real reason Cameron was upset. He said it so softly; it couldn’t be anything but the truth. If he was excluded _before_ his death, he sure was after it.

Closing her eyes, she was quiet as well when she replied, “You know we can’t. Not with your heart—”

His anger flared up for a moment, his hands balling into fists, “Forget about my _fucking_ heart.” Taking a calming breath, Cameron continued, “You don’t know what it’s like—what it’s like waiting to see if you’ll come home.” His voice broke towards the end, and Kirsten felt a pang in her chest.

Cameron’s swearing barely ever got past “dammit” and fictitious languages (that boy sure knew his Klingon), and that worried Kirsten more than the thought of her dying.

“Hey,” she said, standing up and taking his hands in hers, “I’m always going to come home.”

Cameron whispered, “Not if you get kidnapped.”

Shrugging, Kirsten said, “Then it’ll just take me a _little_ longer to get home.”

Cameron rested his forehead against hers, hands unballing and intertwining with Kirsten’s.

“Plus, I won’t get kidnapped.”

* * *

 

Kirsten totally got herself kidnapped. A low chuckle from one of the men brought her out of the memory.

“Looks like the bitch is finally awake,” the thug said, flipping out a switchblade as he moved closer.

Smirking, Kirsten asked, “Is that supposed to scare me?” She could practically hear Cameron groaning at her attitude.

The other goon’s expression turned nervous, but the closer one just let out a laugh, “Little girl isn’t afraid of anything, is she? But you still got jumped.” He nudged a bloody baseball bat with his foot; _that explains the blood_ thought Kirsten.

The man got close enough to brush strands of bloody blonde hair off of Kirsten’s forehead, “Since you’re here, and won’t ever see the light of day again, do you mind telling me why you’ve been looking for us?”

Kirsten spit in his face, wiping the grin off his face. His switchblade was up against her throat as she snarled, “What; are you going to carve me up like you did to Sarah Jones?”

“Ah,” the man said, “so you’re an investigator.”

“Of sorts,” Kirsten replied.

“Well, you must not be a very good one, getting caught like you did,” he said, removing the blade.

Gesturing with her head for him to come closer, ignoring how her head throbbed and her vision swam, “If you come closer, maybe I’ll tell you my secret.”

Humoring her, he laughed and leaned down so his ear brushed her lips.

She whispered, “You _really_ shouldn’t have used zipties.”

Kirsten jerked her wrists apart, snapping the ties, and slammed her hands into the man’s chest and toppling the chair she was tied to on top of him. His head hit the ground with a thud and he stopped moving.

With a yell of, “ _Hey!_ ” the second thug came running toward her. Kirsten grabbed the switchblade from the unconscious man’s hand, and cut the ties around her ankles. She dove out of the way, just within reach of the baseball bat still coated in her blood, just in time; the second man hit the chair she had been tied to, and toppled over it. Staggering to her feet, Kirsten brought the bat down on his head before he could stand.

Ears ringing, she heaved at the sight of their mixed blood. Looking around the room, Kirsten realized she was in a storeroom with one thick door and one tiny broken window. Grabbing one of their phones, she left the room. After securing the door, Kirsten moved a filing cabinet to further hinder either of her captors’ escape—though she doubted either would wake up before they were in handcuffs in the back of a police vehicle.

Once she was outside, she easily found the address on the building’s exterior wall; she called Fisher.

“Detective Fisher’s desk. Detective Morales speaking.”

Kirsten told the detective where the thugs were and a brief overview of their actions—Detective Morales spluttered, choking on his coffee—and then hung up and dropped the phone when he insisted on calling an ambulance for Kirsten.

* * *

 

Kirsten had been missing for 22 hours, and Cameron was going out of his mind with worry. He hadn’t slept since the news of her kidnap had broken (having Fisher, Camille, and Linus barge into their apartment at midnight hadn’t exactly been a good way to find out his girlfriend had been kidnapped…though he doubted there was a good way to hear that news).

Camille and Linus hadn’t left, choosing to stay up with him and scour the internet for where Kirsten could be. She hadn’t even been at one of the warehouses when she had been taken; Fisher had gone into the police headquarters while she remained outside. When he returned, she was gone, with a considerable amount of blood in her wake.

_Blood_. She was injured. The last time Cameron had seen enough blood to make him worry, it had been Fisher’s when he saved Cameron’s life.

Fisher had left half an hour before, after receiving a call from another Detective who had apparently talked to Kirsten. The volume on the TV was turned up high, so as to not miss anything, even though all three of them were stationed 6 feet from it on the couch.

Suddenly, there was knocking at the door, and Cameron could only imagine the worst. The police come to tell him that Kirsten was found dead. Another thug there to deliver Kirsten’s dead body. The logical part of his brain knew that his fears were all the result of one too many detective shows and 2 hours of sleep.

Camille turned off the TV, and she and Linus stood behind him as he unlocked the door and barely opened it. The door swung open, to reveal Kirsten.

His imagination had proven to be better than the truth; her clothes were torn and bloodied, perhaps her own or belonging to the thugs(Fisher reported she had put up a fight in the end). Her hair was matted with dry blood, which also covered most of her face. She looked dazed and unsteady on her feet, but still managed a small smile.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” she said, voice cracking.

Choking on a sob, he replied, “And what sort of time do you call this?” Cameron would like to say he didn’t throw himself at her, but that’s only partially true. Gingerly, so as to not injure her further, he pulled her against him as tight as he dared.

Camille was crying into Linus’ shirt, and her voice was muffled by the material, “You _fucking_ nerds.”

* * *

 

Once they had finally convinced Kirsten to go to the hospital, and she was all cleaned up and situated in her bed, she told Camille, “Hey, those self-defense classes finally came in handy.”

Camille burst into tears.

Kirsten touched her bandaged head with the hand Cameron hadn’t claimed, wincing as the painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet. She looked over at her boyfriend with a smile, flexing her fingers in his.

Speaking softly, he said, “Never do something that stupid again.”

Kirsten merely hummed in response.

* * *

 

Of course Kirsten did something that stupid again.


End file.
